


Without You

by chelliebean3



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: (mia and will are very very background characters like I don't even mention them by name), Angst, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 06:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1295206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelliebean3/pseuds/chelliebean3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Darren were together. Now they’re not. As it turns out, they kind of suck at not being madly in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without You

_I can’t win, I can’t reign_

_I will never win this game_

_Without you, without you_

Chris keeps his hands in his pockets and his smile for the cameras close-lipped and perfunctory. He wants to be off the red carpet and inside the event already. He had wanted to skip the carpet altogether, but ultimately decided not to push his luck after he had missed two photo ops and forgone another event entirely just last month. His team has been lenient and understanding and he doesn’t want to take advantage of that. So here he is. At least he doesn’t have to take any interviews.

He’s never particularly enjoyed this– the attention, the camera flashes, the occasionally obnoxious photographers who are always demanding more (pictures, poses, teeth). It used to be overwhelming; now it’s usually more of a nuisance than anything. And if he still feels little flutters of anxiety when too many people are talking at him–

Well.

Darren used to help with that. He had a way of putting Chris at ease. Chris doesn’t want to be thinking about Darren, but it’s difficult not to in this setting. (In any setting, really, but he wills that thought away). Chris remembers how Darren would catch his eye during these tedious treks down the carpet and he would wink or smile or maybe raise his eyebrows and make some ridiculous silly face just to see Chris’s smile transform into something more genuine. Once they started sleeping together, Darren made a point to find him as soon as they were inside whatever event. He wouldn’t linger, just nudge his shoulder and whisper something dumb like how they should find some bathroom or broom cupboard to make out in (which, _no_ – for all his talk about controlled danger, Chris has never been brazen enough to risk semi-public sex). It was Darren’s way of checking up on him, making sure he was okay and not-freaking-out. Chris thought it was endearing and only mildly exasperating. It was an assured thing and something he could count on, at Glee-related events anyway, and it worked wonders in calming him down. And if Darren wasn’t there, he would be waiting for him at home, more than happy to pull him into bed and kiss away the tension.

Things are different now. There’s no Darren waiting for him inside, or at home, or anywhere. They had decided they were done with waiting. Chris reminds himself that he dealt with this on his own for over a year before Darren came along. He can deal with it now.

He takes a couple slow, measured breaths and poses for one last set of photographers before (finally, _finally_ ) making his way inside. He finds his seat and gives a smile– still close-lipped, still perfunctory– to the man sitting next to him, who reaches over and pats his knee reassuringly. The coil of anxiety in Chris’s stomach loosens but doesn’t disappear. This persistent problem, this ongoing battle with his own discomfort– it’s not a game. Yet, somehow, Chris can’t help but feel as if he’s losing.

_I am lost, I am vain,_

_I will never be the same_

_Without you, without you_

Darren feels like shit. His eyes are watery and his nose is stuffed and he’s just completely worn out. He thinks he probably got his sick germs on a couple hundred iPhones this afternoon. He hopes his fans don’t hate him too much when they all get infected.

His head is starting to throb faintly. Darren considers getting up off the too-firm hotel bed to walk the requisite six steps to the couch where he dumped his stuff. There’s a bottle of Advil in one of the side pockets of his backpack; he just needs to summon enough energy to move. Darren groans and rolls over so he’s lying on his back. It’s easier to breathe when he’s not face-planted into a pillow. He lifts a hand to push his curls off his forehead and lets his forearm drop and rest covering his eyes. Maybe the headache will go away on its own. Maybe he can just…lay here.

There’s a knock at the door. With a huff of breath Darren heaves himself up and goes to open it. Chuck and Lucy are standing there, both smiling widely. Darren grins back. “Hey guys! Wow, I thought you wouldn’t be here ’til after 7.” He swings the door open further, steps back so they can get through, and then lets it go to close with a loud click.

Chuck pulls him into a hug first. “It’s almost 8:30, Darren,” he says.

“Shit, really? Huh. I guess I lost track of time.” He releases Chuck, who makes his way over to the kitchenette. Darren hears the fridge open and the clink of beer bottles. He gives Lucy a quick hug and kisses her on the cheek.

She’s frowning at him when he pulls back. “Honey, you look awful.”

Darren laughs. “Gee, thanks!” At her raised eyebrow, he coughs and continues, “Yeah, well, you know. I’m not feeling one hundred percent. I think I’m just burnt out. Been killing myself with rehearsals, and then with Upfronts and everything…” he trails off, shrugging. He knows he’s been working too hard; his immune system was bound to kick him in the ass at some point.

Lucy clucks sympathetically, or maybe disapprovingly. Probably both. “Don’t forget to take care of yourself. Have you eaten?”

Chuck reappears and hands them both a beer before taking a sip of his own. Darren smiles at him. “Thanks, bro. And no, haven’t eaten. Lea and Kevin came by a couple hours ago on their way to dinner with Jane but I needed a nap. Jenna had a meeting, something about her book release, and Chris, uh. I think he was doing his own thing.” He takes a couple swigs of his beer just so he doesn’t have to see Chuck and Lucy react, and also to distract himself from the unpleasant twisting in the pit of his stomach that has nothing to do with hunger.

Chuck is looking at him seriously when Darren meets his eyes again. “We haven’t talked about this in a while. We should’ve talked after Coachella. Darren-”

“Chuck. Don’t, man. It’s fine.” Darren hopes he’ll drop it, but Chuck is his big brother so of course he doesn’t.

“It’s been _months_ , Darren,” he says gently.

Darren sighs and goes to sit on the edge of the bed. Lucy joins him and wraps her arm around his waist while Chuck drags the desk chair over to sit down in front of them. Chuck and Lucy are both looking at him, waiting.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he shrugs a little. “Everything’s fine. We’re fine. We’re friends.” They are. Before and during and after, they were always friends. But they were always something more, too. Kindred spirits. Soulmates, one might say.

(He did say, or used to, and Chris would laugh and call him a hopeless romantic and kiss him. Darren always took the absence of an outright denial as agreement.)

That something more, that chemistry, that connection– it had always been there. Darren still feels it and he’s certain Chris can feel it too. He thinks about Chris pressed along his side for those silly group shots Lea insisted he take this morning. He thinks about how quick Chris was to take a step back as soon as pictures were taken, how he swallowed visibly and wouldn’t meet Darren’s gaze. He thinks about that one Fall Out Boy song and that line– _better off as lovers and not the other way around_.

Darren looks at Chuck and sees nothing but concern in his eyes. And Darren appreciates it, really, but this isn’t something anyone can help with. Not even his big brother. “Chuck, Luce. You know I love you guys, and I’m so happy you’re here. But can we talk about something else? Like, anything else. Please.”

Chuck smiles a little sadly at him before he’s shaking his head and taking another sip of his beer. “Alright. Why don’t you tell me how rehearsals are going and I’ll find the menu for room service.”

As Darren rambles on about his set list, Lucy holds him tighter. He snuggles into her, resting his head on her shoulder and breathing in the flowery scent of her perfume. He definitely does _not_ think about a broader shoulder and the smell of Rain by Marc Jacobs.

_I won’t run, I won’t fly_

_I will never make it by_

_Without you, without you_

Chris jumps a little when his phone rings. He closes the Wikipedia page on the Duke of Gloucester (twenty-first in line for the British throne, which is hardly a threat to his spot at seventh) and brings up the blank word document that really, after three hours of sitting at his writing desk, shouldn’t be blank. He answers the call.

“This is Chris.”

“Hey, babycakes.”

It’s Ashley. Not a work call. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Hi! How are you?”

“I’m great!” she says cheerily. “Missing you already. I wish you could’ve stuck around for a couple more days.”

Chris sighs. “I know. Me too. It was so good seeing you again. But you know how it is.”

“That I do,” she laughs. “You’re a busy man, Colfer. What have you been up to since you got back to L.A.?”

Chris moves from his desk to his bed. He flops down on his side and readjusts the pillow under his head. “Well, I’ve been _trying_ to write. Haven’t gotten much done, though.”

Ashley gives an exaggerated gasp. “What?! New York Times Best-Selling Author Chris Colfer is suffering from writer’s block? Say it isn’t so!”

“’Fraid so,” he sighs. “And I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve never really had writer’s block before. I mean,” he rolls over onto his back, “I’ve struggled with choosing the right words and phrasing and deciding how much detail is too much, but this is new.”

“What are you working on at the moment?”

“I was working on the third Land of Stories novel, but after two days of making zero progress I took a break. I’ve been trying to start a new screenplay. Figured something fresh might help get the creative juices flowing again. Alas, I’ve got nothin’.” He sighs again.

Ashley clucks sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that, honey. It’ll get better though. You just need to be patient. Wait for inspiration to strike.”

Unbidden, memories bubble up to the surface of his consciousness: of long talks and shared laughter in his trailer, inevitably followed by Chris powering out a page or two before they had to be back on set; of Saturday mornings spent in bed, typing away, pausing occasionally to trail his fingers along the warm, tan skin of the arm flung across his lap; of late nights spent staring unblinkingly at his computer screen until gentle hands pried his laptop away, set it on the floor next to his bed, and divested him of his clothes, kissing his eyelids to make sure he kept them closed before kissing him everywhere else.

Chris blinks, clears his throat, and changes the subject. “Yes, well. Maybe all I need is a good party. You are coming this weekend, right?”

Ashley politely doesn’t comment on the extended pause. “Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world. How goes the birthday planning, anyway?”

“It’s good. My costume is ready to go, the DJ is all set… I need to make a couple calls to the caterer and the guy who’s doing my cake topper, but otherwise everything’s good. Thank God. Planning a party is tough work.”

“Mmhmm. And I hear that’s not the only thing you’re planning,” Ashley says teasingly.

Chris frowns. “Wait, what?”

“When were you gonna tell me you’re going to Florida?”

“Who told you about that?” It’s a dumb question and they both know it.

“Who do you _think_?” Ashley laughs. There’s a pause, and when Ashley speaks again, her voice has lost most of its teasing quality. “To be honest, baby boy, I’m surprised I didn’t hear it from you. Kind of a big deal, don’t you think?”

“There’s a group of us going. It’s not like it’s just the two of us,” he says haltingly.

“Even so. You’re going to meet his parents, aren’t you? I’ve met them. They’re lovely people.”

Chris thinks about Cerina’s thousand-watt smile and Charles’s kind eyes. He remembers a Canaletto walnut dining table and cozy family dinners. He shuts his eyes. “I’m sure they are,” he says quietly.

“Are you okay, sweetie? Don’t lie to me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“Okay, if you say so,” she says slowly. He knows she doesn’t believe him. “Get some rest, alright? You’re always working so hard.”

“I know. I’ll see you in a few days, yeah?”

“You bet your ass you will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Chris hangs up and goes to stand in front of his writing desk but he doesn’t sit back down. He stares at the blank word document for a minute or two before closing the lid of his laptop with a sigh. He crawls back into bed, under the covers this time, and hugs a pillow to his chest. He doesn’t fall asleep for hours, and when he does, he dreams of San Francisco. 

_I can’t rest, I can’t fight_

_All I need is you and I_

_Without you, without you_

Darren goes to Chris’s party.

He knows he probably shouldn’t. There’s another thing tonight that he could be going to, should be going to, but he hasn’t seen or spoken to Chris in person since New York. He figures people will talk no matter what he does so he might as well do what he wants.

He doesn’t intend to stay long. He didn’t even bother with a costume, opting instead for dark wash jeans and a black T-shirt. Chris won’t be happy with him. He slips in virtually unnoticed, ducking around the photographer and sticking to the edge of the crowd. Curt sees him and tries to wave him over, but Darren just smiles a little and shakes his head. Curt cocks his head to the side, clearly curious, but merely lifts the cell phone he’s holding in a silent request to inform him later about what the hell he’s getting up to.

He makes a lap around the room, politely brushing off anyone who tries to motion him closer or strike up a conversation. He doesn’t stop moving until he spots Ashley a few feet away. Darren catches her eye and raises his eyebrows, lifting the present he’s holding. It’s a small rectangular box wrapped in shiny blue paper with a gold bow. Ashley purses her lips for a moment, giving him a calculating look, before she tilts her head to the right and mouths _kitchen_. Darren nods and smiles his thanks. Ashley doesn’t smile back, just gives him another shrewd look. This one feels like a warning and a chastisement all at once.

He doesn’t find Chris in the kitchen, but he does find the caterer. Darren recognizes her from Chris’s party last year. “Hey, you haven’t seen the birthday boy around here by any chance?”

“He went to grab the cake topper. It’s the last thing to go on this bad boy before we wheel it out,” she says, gesturing to the admittedly very impressive cake on the table next to the counter.

“Awesome! Uh, any idea where…?”

“Try the coat room. That’s where everyone dumped their bags.”

“Great, thanks.”

Darren feels like he’s walking in circles. He feels tense, on edge from a combination of nerves and anticipation, so when he sees the familiar sweep of Chris’s hair through the coat room door that’s been left ajar he breathes a sigh of relief. All the tension bleeds out of him; he feels his shoulders relax.

Chris doesn’t notice when Darren slips in the room, too busy rooting through the pile of purses and bags on the table that’s set up against the back wall. It takes Darren pulling the door closed behind him with a pronounced thud and clearing his throat pointedly before Chris glances around. When he does, his eyes widen a fraction and his mouth drops open. “Darren,” he says, his voice high and breathy.

Darren grins, waves a little. “Hey, Chris.”

Chris drops the bag he’d been holding onto the table and turns to face Darren full-on. “This is a surprise.”

“A good one, I hope?” Darren hedges, stepping closer.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. I just… wasn’t expecting you to come.”

“Yeah, well. I didn’t exactly plan on it,” he says honestly.

Chris’s eyes sweep over his non-descript outfit and he nods, ducking his head and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Darren’s smile softens a little. He holds his arms out in a wordless invitation that Chris immediately accepts, looking relieved. They fall into a hug that is close enough, tight enough, to be called an embrace. Darren’s arms wrap around Chris’s narrow waist while Chris’s circle Darren’s neck. They press into each other, Darren’s fingertips of the hand not clutching the present curling into Chris’s side. He breathes slowly, savouring the moment, feeling at peace in way he hasn’t in a long time. Since the last time he and Chris were alone together, at the wrap party for season four. It seems like forever ago.

Chris sighs contentedly. He’s not pulling away, and he smells so _familiar_ and _good_ that Darren honestly can’t help himself. He burrows his face into the side of Chris’s neck, parting his lips and letting them brush against the pale, soft skin there in an almost-kiss. He hears Chris’s sharp intake of breath, feels him stiffen slightly before relaxing back into the embrace. His exhale is shaky, though, so Darren is the one to pull back. The last thing he wants is to make Chris feel uncomfortable.

Chris eyes him a little warily once they’ve disentangled themselves. He looks vulnerable, Darren realizes. For some reason it makes him ache inside. He wants to grab Chris and pull him back into his arms and never let go. Instead, he smiles and lifts the gift he’s holding. Chris’s eyes light up. “You got me a present?”

“I did. Happy Birthday!” He hands it over. As Chris tears into the wrapping paper, Darren shifts from foot to foot. “It’s just something silly. Nothing special.”

“Shut up. Anything from you is special,” Chris says, not looking at him. He’s gotten the paper completely off and he throws it on the table on top of the bags before working off the lid of the plain black box. Nestled inside on a bed of white tissue paper is a simple necklace. The thin cording is made of worn, light blue leather and the only adornment is a flat jewel made of cheap plastic in the shape of a teardrop. It’s a slightly darker blue than the cord, and it’s about the size of the pad of his thumb.

Chris doesn’t say anything. He just stares at the necklace. Darren runs his hand through the back of his hair self-consciously. “It’s, um. It’s part of a set. I have the pink and yellow ones. I’m going to wear them on tour. I just thought maybe-”

The rest of his rambling is cut off by Chris throwing his arms around him. Darren feels the corner of the gift box digging into the skin of his neck. “Thank you, Darren” Chris says quietly. “I love it. It’ll be like… like having a piece of you with me while you’re off making your dreams come true.”

Darren pulls back just enough to see Chris’s face. Chris is looking at him with such pride, such pure affection, that Darren feels his eyes well up. He blinks rapidly, fighting back tears. “I’m going to miss you,” he says shakily.

Chris brings one hand to cup Darren’s cheek. “I’m going to miss you, too,” he says. He pauses, looks down. “It feels like I’m always missing you.”

Darren finds himself leaning in without making any conscious decision to do so. He presses his lips to Chris’s briefly once, twice. The third kiss is longer, softer, and it’s the one Chris responds to. There’s no tongue. There’s barely any movement at all, really. It’s a kiss of connection, of longing, a reminder of what they gave up and what Darren wishes they still had.

Chris pets through his hair once before he pulls away and lets his hand fall from Darren’s cheek. They just look at one another for a moment. Then Chris smiles sadly. He turns back to the table, grabs the bag he had dropped earlier, and fishes through it for second before pulling out what must be the cake topper. It’s a little action figure of Chris in his costume. Darren would laugh under any other circumstances.

“I have to go,” Chris says, gesturing with the mini-Chris. “Thanks again for the necklace.”

Darren swallows the lump in his throat. “You’re welcome. Enjoy the rest of your party.”

Chris nods. He moves to leave the room but pauses in the doorway, hand resting on the doorknob. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Chris is gazing at Darren imploringly, biting his lip. He’s so beautiful Darren feels like crying all over again. He nods and waves his goodbye, not trusting himself to speak. One more brief, small smile, and then Chris is gone.

Darren leaves the party as soon as he’s gotten his emotions in check. The drive home is long and silent. He doesn’t bother to turn on the radio.

_Can’t erase, so I’ll take blame_

_But I can’t accept that we’re estranged_

_Without you, without you_

Chris is home from Florida for a day and a half before he finally gets around to unpacking. Even then he’s grumpy about it since he knows he’ll have to pack again for Europe in just a couple of days. So if he whips clothes into the hamper and pushes drawers closed with a little more force than strictly necessary, that’s why.

At least, that’s what Chris tells himself. He has no other reason to feel so on edge. He just got back from a lovely vacation and soon he’ll be in Paris to see his movie open up a prestigious film festival. He should be on cloud nine.

The problem is Darren, as it so often is. They haven’t been in contact since Chris’s party which, after what happened, is probably for the best. Ashley refers to it as “The Incident” and keeps trying to get him to talk about it. Chris has been employing the tried-and-true method of avoidance and repression with only moderate success. When he can’t stop himself from thinking about it, he mostly tries to summon up some regret and wonders why he doesn’t feel guilty.

Chris misses Darren. He misses talking to him. Sure, he needed some space after what happened, and he was grateful to Darren for giving it to him. After a few days, though, he could definitely use a friendly text or phone call. The Incident left him in a no-man’s-land. Chris wants to establish himself back in friendly territory, wants to feel safe again, but he’s afraid to be the one to reach out.

Almost as soon as that thought crosses his mind, his phone chimes with an incoming text message. From Darren, of course.

[11:52PM] _you up?_

Chris frowns at his phone. It’s not even midnight yet. Not in L.A., anyway.

[11:53] I am, yes. Why are you? What time is it there?

[11:54] _almost 2_

[11:54] Darren.

[11:55] _can’t sleep. still pumped from the show._

[11:55] _also theo’s in the bunk across from me and he snores_

Chris shakes his head. He moves the suitcase he’d been unpacking off the bed, deciding to finish in the morning, and stretches out on top of the covers.

[11:57] How was Nashville?

[11:58] _so amazing. so much energy._

[11:58] _I played a new song_

[11:59] _well, not new. I wrote it ages ago. but I haven’t played it before tonight._

Chris can’t help but smile at Darren’s rambling. Even via text he can’t shut up.

[12:00AM] _I played it for you_

And just like that, they’re back in unsafe territory. Just when Chris was starting to relax. He’s not sure how to respond.

[12:02] _I’m sorry. should I not have told you that?_

[12:03] god, Darren, don’t apologize.

[12:04] Never be sorry for being honest with me.

[12:05] _would you listen to it? please._

His next text is a YouTube link. Chris is too curious and doesn’t have the willpower to resist. He’s never been able to deny Darren anything, really.

(Anything except his continued patience, except more time, except a renewal of his promise to not give up on them. Chris couldn’t give him that, _couldn’t_ , and he hates himself a little bit for it.)

The video quality is crappy, but the audio isn’t bad for a concert. He can hear Darren’s voice clearly, gorgeous as always even when filtered through the speakers on his phone. He’s sitting centre-stage with an acoustic guitar in his lap. After introducing the song, he begins to play.

Chris listens to the whole thing, his heart lodging in his throat at the close of the first verse and remaining there for the duration of the song. Then he listens to it again. And again.

[12:13] Darren.

[12:13] I don’t know what to say.

Not even a minute later his phone is buzzing. Darren’s smiling face fills his screen. Chris accepts the call, his hands shaking.

“Chris?”

He winces at the hoarse quality of Darren’s voice. “You sound like you’re getting sick,” Chris says in lieu of a greeting. “What did I say about taking care of yourself?”

“Chris.”

“When was the last time you had a night off? Have you slept at all since San Francisco?”

“ _Chris_.” Darren sighs. “Tell me what you thought about the song?” The quiet note of desperation in his voice makes Chris feel like he’s breaking a little.

“It’s-it’s a beautiful song, Darren,” he says. “When did you write it?”

“About a year and a half ago. Around Christmas of 2011.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Right around the time when- I mean, was it-”

“Yeah. The night I told you I was in love with you. And you said-”

“I said we’d both gotten in too deep and it had to end. I told you to leave. I remember.” Chris lets out a shaky breath and brings a hand up to cover his eyes.

“I went home and I wrote this song in like, half an hour. I think it’s the fastest I’ve ever written something.” When Chris doesn’t reply, he continues. “I was mustering up the courage to sing it to you, but we worked things out before I had a chance.”

Chris remembers that, too. He remembers two weeks of no texts, no phone calls, and averted eyes between takes once they were back at work. He remembers sleeping alone in a bed that felt too big for one person and spending breaks in a trailer that was far too quiet in the absence of Darren’s incessant chatter. He remembers showing up at Darren’s place at 3am on a weeknight before a 7am call time, clad in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pajama bottoms and Darren’s Michigan hoodie, and being pulled into a hug so fierce he swore he’d have bruises in the shape of Darren’s hands on his back the next morning (he didn’t).

It all feels like a lifetime ago. He was stronger then, he thinks. Strong and foolish. He had no idea how the secrets, the hiding, the evasion tactics and half-truths would wear on him. He’s just so _tired_. “Darren. What do you want me to say?”

Darren lets out a huff of breath. “I don’t know, man. I just- I just miss you, so much, and I feel like being apart from you is- It’s sucking the life out of me.”

“So- what? What do you want? Do you want us to try again? Is that what you’re saying?” Chris rubs at his eyes, wiping away a stray tear that’s slipped out.

“I mean. Why not? I’m losing my mind without you. Why can’t we?” he pleads.

“You know why. It’s not going to get any easier. Fuck, it’s going to get even harder after this summer. You know that,” Chris says, exhaustion colouring his voice.

“But, baby, isn’t it worth it?” Chris feels his chest tighten at the pet name. “None of it matters if we have each other.”

“Of course it matters. It’s naïve to think otherwise,” he says as gently as possible. “And I- You know I have someone else.”

Darren is silent for so long that Chris wonders if he’s hung up on him, but the call is still connected when he checks. Finally, Darren sighs heavily. “Are you happy?”

“What kind of-”

“Chris. Please, just answer the question. Are you happier now than you were when we were together?”

Chris feels a fresh wave of tears coming on at that, because it would be so easy, _so easy_ to tell Darren how much he still loves him. How hard it’s been without him. But he can’t. Darren is so talented, has so much to offer the world. He deserves someone who can support him wholly, without strings attached and without all the bull shit they’ve dealt with over the years. Chris can’t give him that, not without turning both their lives upside down.

So he blinks back the tears, takes a deep breath, and lies. “Yes. I’m happy.”

There’s another brief silence. Then Darren says, “Good. That’s good. All I want is for you to be happy.” His voice breaks on the last word. “Fuck, I’m sorry for putting this all on you. I’m so sorry.”

Chris wraps an arm around himself, worried that he’s literally going to fall apart. “Darren-”

“No, don’t. It’s okay. I should-I should probably try to get some sleep. Indianapolis won’t appreciate it if I pass out on stage.”

“Thank you,” Chris whispers. “For the song, I mean.”

“Yeah. Bye, Chris.”

“Bye, Darren.”

Chris hangs up, sets his phone on the pillow beside him. He grabs his laptop from the floor beside the bed, opens YouTube, and pulls up the song. He presses play and lets himself cry.

_I can’t quit now, this can’t be right_

_I can’t take one more sleepless night_

_Without you, without you_

Darren sits near the front of the bus just behind the driver and stares out the window unseeingly, his knees tucked up under him on the seat. His eyes burn and his whole body aches. It feels like he hasn’t slept in days. He knows he needs to rest, but he can’t shut his mind off, can’t stop thinking about the last few days and two years ago and everything in between.

The last few days. He’s felt numb, mostly. The guys say he’s been acting like a zombie, except when he’s with fans or on stage. That’s just Darren, though. The world could be ending and he’d still put on the best show he could, hug as many fans as possible. He can’t be on the receiving end of that much love and not give as much of himself as he can in return. He just can’t. But when he’s alone, when it’s quiet, he feels numb. Empty. Broken in a way he hasn’t felt maybe ever, which is dumb because technically they broke up months ago. Shouldn’t he be over this? It should hurt less than it does, but it’s like a wound that re-opens every day, filling him with a pain blinding to the point that he can’t even feel it anymore. He knows it’s there, but he’s not equipped to deal with it. So he doesn’t. Instead, he dwells on the words he’s spoken that he can’t take back, on the consent he finally granted that he withheld for so long, knowing with sick certainty that there was no turning back. He figures there was no point fighting it anymore. He’s lost the only thing worth fighting for.

Two years ago. These memories are hazier but happier, easier to think about. It’s like pulling on a warm sweater. Darren remembers how something shifted during the tour, gradually, but by Toronto the change was obvious. Chris had, quite inexplicably, lost the last of his reservations about Darren and their friendship. They became close friends quickly enough when Darren first joined the show, but Darren always felt like Chris was holding back somehow, keeping parts of himself hidden. But with the tour came sharing hotel rooms, and Darren and Chris roomed together more nights than not. They had frank, honest conversations about everything under the sun. Chris told him stories he’d never heard before, about Hannah and family vacations, high school bullies and the first time he had a panic attack. Darren in turn shared his most embarrassing college experiences, the shows he saw growing up, and the musicians who inspired him.

The way they touched each other changed, too. Darren’s never really grasped the concept of personal space, so from the beginning there had never been physical boundaries between them. But it was always Darren initiating the casual touches, Darren getting into Chris’s space. That didn’t change, hasn’t changed, but Chris stopped merely tolerating it and started to respond to it. He welcomed the touches, pressed back, opened up. After the Toronto concert, back in their hotel room, Chris ignored his unmade bed in favour of crawling in next to Darren with a whisper of _just for tonight_. Nothing happened that night, but for the rest of the tour only one of the beds in their shared rooms was ever slept in.

It wasn’t until the night after Dublin that Darren leaned over and kissed him, breached the space between them that they’d only half-heartedly maintained. They had kissed slowly, languidly, until Chris rolled them over so he was on top, pressing Darren into the springy mattress. As Chris rucked up his shirt and leaned down to suck wet kisses over Darren’s torso, he whispered _this is just a onetime thing_. And Darren had agreed wordlessly, rocking his hips up when Chris started fiddling with the button on his jeans.

Of course, it could never be a onetime thing with them. Darren lasted a week after they were back in the States before he was showing up on Chris’s doorstep and practically mauling him before they got inside. And Chris responded enthusiastically, even as he breathed _just this once_ into the skin of Darren’s throat. It went on like that for months. Darren would show up at Chris’s trailer or his house, and sometimes they would just hang out like they always had, but more often than not they would fool around. Every time, Chris would preface the hook-up with a condition of _just once more_ or _this is the last time_. And Darren would nod distractedly, preoccupied with pulling off Chris’s T-shirt. That was their pattern, until that night in December. But Darren would always remember Glee Live as the game-changer. Toronto especially, since that was the first time Darren woke up beside Chris. He remembers that morning so vividly, how the sun filtering in through the ugly curtains made Chris’s freckles stand out, how adorable he looked with his hair all mussed and sleep-disheveled. Looking back, he thinks that was the moment he fell in love with him.

And everything in between. A year and a half of laughter and smiles and the best conversation and sex Darren’s ever had. He never knew love could feel like this– deep and passionate and easy as breathing. He never knew a person like Chris could exist, someone who challenged him and changed him and fit him so perfectly. It was hard, of course it was hard, but nothing worth having comes easy. Darren has lived by that his whole life. Chris has, too. But at some point hard became impossible. Chris was exhausted and nothing Darren could do or say was enough to change his mind once he decided that he’d had enough, that they should see other people, and that they were better off as friends. Friendship was supposed to be easier. Friends don’t ache inside when they’re apart for long stretches of time. Friends can attend the same event and share space without fighting back the urge to get closer, to touch, to kiss. That was the theory, anyway. Darren’s pretty certain they’ve disproved it. Being friends with Chris after everything that happened between them is just as hard as being with him was. But what’s the alternative? They’re in each other’s lives, for better or worse, for the next couple of years at least. Beyond that, Darren can’t imagine his life without Chris in it in some capacity. It’s as unthinkable as life without his parents, his brother, the Starkids.

So he’s stuck. He can’t be with Chris the way he wants, but he can’t be without him either. He’s doomed to watch the love of his life find happiness with someone else, all because they met under complicated circumstances.

The sun is rising. Darren glances at his phone to check the time and sees that it’s just past 6am. They’ll be in Ann Arbor soon. He sighs, closes his eyes, and wills sleep to come.

(It doesn’t.)

_I won’t soar, I won’t climb_

_If you’re not here, I’m paralyzed_

_Without you, without you_

Chris played the role of London tourist exceptionally well. After fulfilling all of his professional obligations, his days were chock full of sightseeing, exploring everything from the Tate Modem to the Tower of London. Alla was wary of the museums at first, but Chris insisted on visiting the British Museum at the very least. When the world didn’t end, she relaxed and they went on to see the National Gallery and the Victoria and Albert Museum. It was a dream come true, getting to see so much of what’s fascinated him since he was a child. And it had proven to be an excellent distraction from his emotional turmoil. He’s always been good at putting on a brave face.

Now, though, he’s on a flight from London back to Paris. He’s going to be in the same city as Darren, however briefly, after a day spent touring the Harry Potter studios. It’s like the universe is trying to tell him something. Or maybe it’s just Alla. She’s the one that booked the damn tour and insisted on flying out of Paris. And now she’s handing him a folded slip of paper and giving him a significant look. At his raised eyebrow she just smiles, a little sadly he thinks, and motions for him to open it. Chris unfolds the paper and sees a message scrawled in Alla’s loopy cursive writing. It’s the name and address of a hotel. And below that:

_He’s in room 391. Please be careful. xx_

Chris stares at the note, his mouth hanging open in shock. Then he turns to Alla. “How did you-?”

She silences him with a finger to her lips, nodding to the sleeping figure slumped in the window seat. Chris swallows thickly and nods once. Alla hands him her phone. It’s on airplane mode, but she has a text conversation pulled up from earlier this evening with Michael. Chris barely glances at the conversation itself. That name tells him all he needs to know. He nods again and hands Alla back her phone, mouthing thank you. She pats his hand and turns back to her book.

Chris stuff the slip of paper in his pocket alongside the necklace Darren gave him (he hasn’t worn it, but he also hasn’t been without it on his person since his party). He settles back in his seat, gripping the armrests on both sides and wiggling to get comfortable. He tries to think rationally.

On the one hand, Darren is one of his closest friends, has been for over two years, and he’s hurting. God, he’s a fucking mess, and Chris knows he’s the one to blame. He has a chance to see Darren, talk to him in person, and offer him comfort and support. Ignoring this opportunity would make him a bad friend. Moreover, he _wants_ to see Darren. He won’t get another chance like this for weeks. Being in the same place at the same time is a rare blessing, and he’s far too selfish not to want to take advantage of this.

On the other hand, it would be dishonest of him. He can’t even think the word cheating because it’s not, it’s not. It’s impossible to reconcile the concept of cheating with the way he perceives his relationship with Darren. Even that kiss at the party didn’t feel like a betrayal. It felt like part of a conversation. Still, Chris can’t delude himself so far as to think that sneaking off to visit an ex-lover in a Parisian hotel makes him a symbol of fidelity. He’d be knowingly putting himself into a situation where he’d face temptation. Darren is a tactile guy; comforting him will inevitably include hugs and cuddles. Can Chris offer that, be a friend to someone he’s still in love with, who’s still in love with him, without letting the pull between them overtake him?

Only one way to find out.

_I can’t look, I’m so blind_

_I lost my heart, I lost my mind_

_Without you, without you_

Paris has been good to Darren. It wasn’t a break, not really, since he still had the premiere and a show and a bunch of interviews. But it was something new, a reprieve from endless nights spent in front of a crowd and days spent on a tour bus. He’s actually slept. Not a lot, but enough so that he’s no longer running the risk of entering into some wacky hallucinatory state brought on by sleep deprivation. He has an early flight to New York City tomorrow morning, and he feels ready to make the most of the next few weeks.

He’s not happy. He’s miles from happy, but if the last few months (and the last few weeks in particular) have taught him anything, it’s that he can enjoy what’s right in front of him. Focus on what he has instead of what’s missing. Darren knows how lucky he is to be living the life he’s always dreamed of, even if he only had a vague idea of what he’d be getting himself into. He tells himself it’s worth it, it’s all worth it, and hopes one day he’ll believe it.

Darren is thinking about ordering a movie and is flipping through selections when there’s a knock at the door. It’s nearly ten, so past Ricky’s bedtime, but maybe Michael needs something. Either that or he ordered room service and totally forgot about it. It’s happened before.

The last person he expects to see when he opens the door is Chris, brown leather jacket hanging over one arm and hair falling out of its careful upsweep. He looks tired and sun-freckled and he’s still the most beautiful thing Darren’s ever seen.

When Darren doesn’t say anything, just gapes at him, Chris quirks a smile. “Can I come in?” Darren nods dumbly and Chris walks inside and over to the couch. He sits on the cushion Darren had been sitting on and lifts his feet to rest them on the coffee table, ankles crossed. He looks over at Darren, who’s still standing by the door, and pats the cushion beside him.

In the seconds it takes for Darren to make his way over he becomes acutely aware of three things: he hasn’t shaved in a couple weeks, he hasn’t taken his ring off, and he’s wearing one of Chris’s old T-shirts (it had gotten a little snug on Chris and Darren is a firm believer in the maxim of “you can never have too many Star Wars sleep-shirts”). Never mind that he’s staying in a five-star hotel in Paris; the combination of these three elements make Darren look like a sad, pining, hobo of an ex-boyfriend. He suppresses a sigh.

Chris gives him a small smile once Darren’s sitting down, cross-legged, close but not close enough to be touching. “Hi, Darren.”

“Hi.”

“I hope- I mean, is it okay? That I’m here?” Chris asks, uncertainty wavering in his voice. “I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

Darren’s shaking his head before Chris finishes talking. “No, no. I mean,” he pauses, swallows, “Yes, it’s okay. Of course it’s okay. Seeing you will always make me happy, Chris.”

Chris hesitantly reaches for his hand, interlocking their fingers. Darren squeezes tightly, and neither of them say anything for a minute or two. They just sit together, hands clasped, and Darren feels like he can breathe for the first time since that heartbreaking phone call. Finally, Chris breaks the silence. “I heard about the interview,” he says softly. He doesn’t have to specify _which_ interview. “I’m not going to ask if you’re okay. But I need to know how you are, and if there’s anything I can do to help. To make you feel better.”

Darren feels his bottom lip quiver, much to his embarrassment, and he has to look away from Chris before he can answer. Chris showing up here was like a bucket of cold water being dumped over his head, a violent shove back into reality. He means to tell Chris the truth about how he’s feeling: how helpless he feels, how ashamed he is for being dishonest. But all that comes out is, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you… care?” Darren knows Chris will probably say something about friends caring about each other, about friends supporting each other in times of distress, but he has to ask. He needs reassurance that they will still be in each other’s lives. Needs it. So when Chris barks out a dry, disbelieving laugh, Darren is shocked into meeting his gaze.

Chris’s eyes look greener than usual, the way they always do when he’s close to tears. “Oh, honey. I care because I love you. And no matter how stupid I’ve been and you’ve been and we’ve been together about this whole thing, that’s one thing that hasn’t changed, won’t ever change.”

Darren lets out a sob, using the hand not holding Chris’s to wipe at the tears he can’t stop from falling. Chris makes a small sound like a wounded animal and all of sudden Darren’s being pulled closer. He lets his head fall in Chris’s lap, lets his free hand wrap around Chris’s waist. Chris is running his fingers through Darren’s hair, pausing only to rub his back in soothing circles as Darren shakes and cries and clings to him. Chris is murmuring sweet, comforting words above him. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay. I promise it’ll all be okay. I love you so much, you know that? I tried so hard not to for so long, and then I tried again a couple years later. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson the first time ‘round. You’re so precious, Darren. You’re a joy to watch, to listen to, to talk to. You’re going to be fine, baby, because you’re strong and kind and so wonderful. And no matter what happens, I’ll always be here, okay? Even when we’re apart, I’ll always be thinking about you and worrying about you and hoping that you’re safe and happy. Do you hear me? It’s all going to be okay…”

_I am lost, I am vain_

Darren cries for so long that when he finally stops he looks totally worn out, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Chris helps him up and leads him to the bathroom, a steadying hand on the small of his back. Darren brushes his teeth and Chris watches him in the mirror, wondering absently how he ever thought he would be able to keep this up, keep Darren at a safe distance. He really ought to be more concerned than he is. Loving Darren has always been so easy, though. It’s everything that comes along with loving him that Chris has been afraid of. That fear hasn’t gone away, but the love hasn’t either. If anything it’s gotten stronger. Chris has learned that distance doesn’t make the heart grow fonder as much as it makes you realize what (or who) you can’t live without. At least not happily.

After he rinses his mouth, Darren tugs his T-shirt off and wiggles out of his sweatpants, not bothering to pick them up off the floor. Chris grabs his hand and pulls him to the bedroom. “Come on, you have an early flight,” he says, yanking back the comforter before stepping aside to let Darren climb in.

Darren doesn’t let go of Chris’s hand. He tugs gently. “Will you stay with me?” His voice is hoarse from crying and Chris can’t deny him anything when he sounds like that. Can’t. He squeezes his hand once then pulls away. He makes a shushing sound when Darren whines in protest, goes back into the bathroom, and shuts the door behind him. He leans against the door for a moment, taking deep breaths and trying to collect himself.

He won’t cheat, not any more than he already has by concealing where his heart truly lies. Chris has several important conversations he’ll have to have over the next couple of days. He and Darren still have so much they need to work out. Just not tonight.

Tonight, Darren needs him. And he needs Darren.

_I will never be the same_

After Darren hears the shower start, everything gets a little hazy and disjointed. Darren slips in and out of sleep. He doesn’t remember Chris coming out of the bathroom, or turning off the overhead light, or closing the curtains. He wakes up briefly when he feels the bed dip beside him and smells his own shampoo. He rolls over so he’s facing Chris and blinks to clear the blurriness in his eyes. “Chris,” he whispers.

Chris reaches over and brushes his curls back. “Hmm?”

“I used to think that you thought I wasn’t good for you,” he says, words slurring together a little. “But lately I’ve been wondering if it’s the other way around.”

Chris turns his face into his pillow for a moment. When he speaks, it’s muffled. “I’ve always been the selfish one, Darren.”

Darren shuffles closer. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Whatever makes you think that you’re not good for me, or I’m not good for you, none of it means anything next to that.”

Chris breathes out shakily, meets his eyes. He nods.

Darren sighs, feeling like a huge weight has just been lifted. “Hold me?”

Chris nods again, wraps his arms around him, and pulls him to his chest. Darren tucks his head under Chris’s chin, his nose resting in the dip above Chris’s collarbone. “Just for tonight,” Chris breathes, right before they both drift off.

It feels like the beginning all over again.

_Without you_

Chris wakes up with the rising sun just beginning to shine through the curtains, casting the room in a soft, pinkish glow. Darren is still there, tucked up against his chest, clinging to him like a human koala bear. And Chris doesn’t worry about what’s coming tomorrow, or next week, or next year. Darren will always be home for him, and that’s all that matters.


End file.
